


Just Palms and Fingers

by chromochaotic



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromochaotic/pseuds/chromochaotic
Summary: The last time this happened was when Ronan was three years old. It was never safe for others to sleep in the same space he did, because who knew what would happen when he woke?But now, fifteen years later, he finally doesn't have to fall asleep alone. It feels... strange.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished the series recently! I'm 100% certain someone has already done this idea, probably a lot of somebodies, but... figured another couldn't hurt! 
> 
> Hope you like it~ It's just cheesy, cheesy, unbelievably cheesy fluff.
> 
> Oh, also, I set this in Monmouth since it's just a month or so after the series' climax, and I guess it would take Ronan some time to get moved into the Barns.

Now that several weeks had passed since the Great Shitstorm of ‘16, Ronan Lynch was beginning to sort his life back into “ordinary” and “extraordinary”, with most things falling into the former. Granted, Ronan’s day-to-day facts—glittering cars and dream creatures and dirty jokes about roommates made in Latin—might seem more varied than the average teen’s. 

This also left him with a slightly skewed view of what  _ was _ special. For example, this moment: he and Adam curled facing each other on Ronan’s disarrayed bed, the last sunrays of an unhurried evening sneaking in, all their attention shyly focused on where Adam’s fingers carefully slotted themselves between Ronan’s. It was probably mundane to others their age; some couples might seek lasting memories in illicit tresspasses onto construction sites, or in hidden waterfalls that fed into icy-brisk wading pools. No, these were just two young men slumped in one of their bedrooms. 

But Adam and Ronan felt magic in the quietness of the scene. The rest of their lives were made of noise and bustle, while the pivotal intersections of their memories were times of intimate isolation. Silence. Besides the atmosphere, Ronan burned at the sights of the scene. Sure: a boyfriend lied in his boyfriend’s messy bed, no big deal. But it was also Adam Parrish, smiling, with Ronan’s mattress compressing cheek into teeth; Adam Parrish’s sandy, mist-and-sawdust hair askew on a pillowcase that usually only felt bristles; Adam Parrish’s shoulder obscuring one of the stupid posters tacked to his wall, a view that was normally empty and clear. Ronan felt a ridiculous thrill. Ridiculous, because of all the things and stimulants to give him thrills, this succeeded so easily. He watched, watched, watched Adam, as those long fingers tested the feeling of their intertwined grips. They were just two hands, just palms and fingers and scuffed skin and knuckles; but then, this was Adam, cautiously tasting another form of affection kept from him for so long, feeling sure and comfortable and in love enough with Ronan to release himself to it. 

Ronan’s excitement manifested itself through his hot skin, his bright gaze. Adam’s, apparently, took on the form of light trembles, an agitated sweaty palm. 

Ronan couldn’t—well, no, he could resist the jibe, but he didn’t want to. He said, “Didn’t know I was dating a chihuahua, dude.”

But even as he said it, he saw the explanation in Adam’s eyes: boundless, scared, happy, overwhelming trust. It gave him a rush even as Adam quipped, “Don’t be an ass,” and the high was followed by lingering warmth that trickled through Ronan like rainwater. It soaked his roots until he was no longer able to process it, and the only option at that point, clearly, was for Ronan to crush Adam to himself in a dramatic affair of tugging and shouts. 

They stayed in place once the dust had happily settled. Minutes drifted by in the same way thumbs drifted over knuckles. Finally, Ronan noticed his eyes drooping, and with a small jolt realized Adam had also started dozing off.

“Hey, Parrish, wake up.” Ronan pulled an arm free to gently trouble Adam’s shoulder. “C’mon, kid, you gotta scram.”

Adam blinked and craned his neck, taking stock of things again. “Wha… Why?” Finding the request illogical (he didn’t have work tonight) (and he was enamored with the warmth of the sheets and T-shirt and skin near him), Adam shook his head and laid it back down. 

“No, really,” Ronan grumbled, half-heartedly urging Adam off the mattress. “Just head to Noah’s room, or something. You can’t be in here while I’m asleep.”

Scowling at having to make mental connections so quickly after rousing, Adam still resisted his removal from the bed. Gradually, his thoughts clicked. “You just… want me gone before you wake up… in case you bring back something bad?” Through his drowsiness, Adam squinted at Ronan. He was still drawing conclusions; he thought back to that first, sweet night at The Barns. Even then, Ronan had dazedly parted ways with him at the door to Declan’s room, the hidden giddiness in his body reassuring Adam that it was only shyness and nothing negative that separated them. Now Adam was seeing that moment in a different light.

As his gaze still held Ronan’s, waiting for confirmation, Adam watched his boyfriend’s eyes avert themselves. 

Ronan rested on one elbow while rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah. I mean, Parrish, I haven’t slept a full night in the same room as someone else since I was three.” His eyes met Adam’s again. “Even after all this, after everything, I still don’t know if I’ll bring back something dangerous in the morning. It’s better to not have other people passed the fuck out near me when that happens.”

Processing, processing. Adam looked at what he knew, since he’d been there when Ronan brought back the worst. The unexpected. Ronan might be in a better place, but he’d also experienced fresh horrors so recently that Adam still felt abrasions around his wrists. And Adam, while still connected to some sort of energy that pulsed with the march of ants and stormy breezes, also knew that Cabeswater was in a form he understood less than ever. How quickly would the magic heed his intentions, if he needed it? How would Ronan cope with the fault of Adam getting hurt?

And yet. Adam pictured a young man curled up in a chair, under a single blanket, dreaming alone. 

_ Keep me safe, _ he asked the leaves. And he imagined, just faintly, there was a rustled reply.

“I’ll stay.” 

Ronan only regarded Adam silently, a stare conveying his doubt. 

Adam stressed, “I know what I’m talking about. You know I do.”

Carefully, time picked its way around them. Ronan mulled over the invoked memories. 

“...Okay. Okay, we can try it.”

In a shivering way, one more considering moment hung between them. Then, Adam slumped back into the mattress (and into Ronan) with a relieved, “Good. Warning you now, I might drool.” 

Ronan stared ahead, taking care not to move now that Adam’s head was nestled beneath his chin. He swore he could feel eyelids fluttering near his pulse. “Damn. Gross.” 

Of course those were the last words to grace the air before the two of them slipped into quiet again. Ronan listened out for the echo of other sounds: the whisper of the branches of Henrietta, Chainsaw stirring from somewhere nearby. But no sound could beat the surging of his heart, as he was overcome by the unbelievability, the utter wonder of this infinitesimal moment. 

It was the first time Ronan would remember falling asleep with the feeling of hands holding him close. A chest rose and fell against his, a heart beat under his palm. Did the beat match up with his own? Ronan slowed his breath, trying to focus on both pulses, anything to keep himself from getting too caught up in the shimmering air before his eyes and in his throat, to keep himself from saying something too early. 

Adam’s fingers drew a little more tightly into the fabric at the back of Ronan’s T-shirt. Impossibly, against the rapid beating of his heart, Ronan felt time lull him into a space away from wakefulness. 

Even as he dreamt, he experienced the lightest hint of sawdust, which was mundane. Fantastic. 

And when he woke—morning light, shirts twisted uncomfortably around torsos, a sleep-soft smile. It was a normal he’d never tire of, in the years to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Hope you liked it! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at @chromotps, if anyone wants to come chat. :]


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